Double Exposure

A couple of people were furious, shouting at the volunteer staff, but most just grumbled and wrote down their information for the organizers. The police were called, but Kyle had no intention of sticking around until they showed up. Emma had been ogled enough for one day. He had the sneaking suspicion that if he didn’t get her home soon, she was going to have a meltdown of epic proportions. For a woman wound tighter than a top, she was holding it together remarkably well, but he suspected she had just about reached her limit, given the way she was bouncing on the heels of her feet and tearing the flesh off her lower lip with her teeth.

“I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed for about the tenth time.

“I’m actually surprised it’s never happened before,” Kyle said truthfully as they exited the tent and headed to his car. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like it would be that hard, and it’s definitely disruptive, which was clearly the goal here.” He gestured back to the distraught crowd still in the tent.

“It’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “Who does something like that? It’s just...childish.”

“It’s actually criminal. I wonder if they have any chance at all of catching them. Presumably it’s the same woman who caused trouble at the other shoots, but it’s not like there are security cameras anywhere around here anymore. This steel plant is a ghost town.” Kyle picked his way carefully across the old parking lot, watching where he walked. “Careful, there are all kinds of glass and gravel lying around.” He looked at Emma’s bare feet. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“You’re barefoot, too,” she pointed out. “And you don’t need me crushing you deeper into the pavement.”

“My feet are callused. I won’t feel it. But yours look delicate.” They did. Emma had her toenails painted red, and her feet were smooth and unblemished. They were filthy from the warehouse, but he could tell she got frequent pedicures, and she was clearly no athlete. Emma screamed workaholic. Given the lushness of her curves, he liked to imagine her lounging around on a chaise pinup-girl style in her spare minutes, instead of attacking a ball in an adult soccer league. But what did he know? Maybe she made flag football her bitch on Saturdays.

“I don’t really think anything about me is particularly delicate,” she said. “But I do love a good pedicure.”

Kyle imagined her soft foot sliding down his leg. Bending down, he cleared his throat and presented his back to her.

“Hop on.” Now that the image of her lounging on a sofa in her garter belt had popped into his head, Kyle really wanted her to lounge on him.

“I’m only wearing underwear, Kyle. There is no way I’m hopping on your back. Come Monday, we do have to work together in an office setting.”

As far as he was concerned, Monday didn’t exist. There was only today, and a parking lot full of broken glass. “We’re not in the office right now, and you seriously should not be walking in this.” He sincerely did not want her to get hurt, but he had to admit, he also wouldn’t mind her legs wrapped around his waist.

“It’s fine.” She indignantly took a step forward and immediately winced. “Ow. Damn it, I just stepped on a rusty nail.” Using his arm for leverage, she leaned down and inspected her foot. “Good thing I’ve had a tetanus shot. Gross.”

Kyle fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I offered you a solution.” He couldn’t help but point that out again.

She made a face at him. “These are my choices? Step on a rusty nail or wrap my painted legs around you while I’m topless?”

Kyle grinned. “Doesn’t sound like a hard choice to me.”

Emma flushed. “You know what I mean. I’m no Skinny Minnie, by the way. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

He couldn’t prevent himself from glancing at her breasts again. She had all the right stuff in all the right places, as far as he was concerned. “I think you’re perfect. And don’t insult my manhood. I can carry a woman.”

“I think we’ve discussed your manhood enough already today.” Emma glanced around at the other people who were picking their way across the parking lot. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention to the two of them, despite their lack of street clothes. “Okay, fine. But we’re never going to mention this again. Ever. I don’t want to hear any cracks about it today or any day hereafter. Got it?”

“Got it.” Later, he would wonder why the thought of her hopping onto his back had him so excited. Right now he just wanted to enjoy it. “Well, if a piggyback ride makes you uncomfortable, I’ll just pick you up.”

He did just that, before Emma could change her mind. Leaning over, he scooped her up into his arms while she gave a squeal of shock.

“Kyle!”

“Yes?” Oh, man, he was in heaven. Or maybe he was in hell. Because the feeling of Emma in his arms was so amazing and yet, he wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it. Or was he? Emma seemed to be warming up to him. Maybe with a little more effort, and the right circumstances, he could find himself feeling more of the delicious curves he’d been treated to all day. He bounced her a little to adjust her in his arms, her skin against his, her breasts perilously close to his own chest, her hands reaching up automatically to entwine around his neck to stabilize herself.

“Nothing,” she said, eyes wide, green lips parted in an expression of shock.

Kyle gazed at her briefly, well aware of how enticing the curve of her backside was as it bumped against his waist. Her mouth was close enough to his that he could simply lean forward and kiss her. Would that fall under the same rules as him carrying her? If he kissed her, would she allow it as long as he didn’t mention it on Monday? Or would she yank away and end up crashing to the ground?

Better not chance it.

He made his way to the car without incident, though he couldn’t say he exactly enjoyed walking barefoot across ancient gravel. He was starting to feel like he was back in college. This whole scenario was remarkably similar to a frat party where he’d gone Jell-O diving with a date and had wound up handcuffed to a chain-link fence.

Hmm. He could hope for a better ending here.

Setting Emma down, he retrieved his keys and beeped open the passenger door.

“Thanks for driving me home,” she said as she climbed in.

“No problem. I probably have something you can, you know, cover up with.” Kyle looked in the backseat. Nothing but an old fast-food bag. The trunk revealed a tire iron and a length of rope. Uh, not quite what he had in mind. Finally, he came back around and bent over in front of her.

“What are you doing?” she squawked.

Not what he’d like to be doing, frankly.

“Maybe there is something in here.” After popping open the glove box, Kyle stood up triumphantly with a handful of paper napkins. “Aha!”

Her lips pursed and she looked like she was debating whether to laugh or cry. “Thanks.” Grabbing them from him, she unfurled one and stuck it over her left breast. The right got the same treatment.

Kyle suddenly wanted to laugh himself so he backed up and went around to the driver’s side.

“I’m sorry about your upholstery,” she said, trying to put the remaining napkins under her butt.

“Don’t worry about it. It couldn’t be helped.” Kyle was fascinated by the way she was lifting her backside up, her napkin-covered breasts jutting out.

“Wait a minute,” she said suddenly. “I can’t go back to my place! I don’t have my key!”

Oh, this day kept getting more and more interesting.

“No worries,” Kyle said. Really, it was like fate was handing him a Golden Ticket. With Emma forced into his company, surely she would see the merits of exploring the chemistry that had been sizzling between them all day. “You can come to my place.”

Where they would have a little green on green action if he had anything to say about it.

4

EMMA LOOKED OVER at Kyle, horrified. She had no house key. She didn’t keep a spare key outside her apartment because everyone knew that was the fastest way to get robbed. She had been on the police-blotter beat for six months and it had convinced her that a key under the welcome mat was a safety risk akin to jumping rope with a live power wire.

Her next-door neighbor, Mr. Stein, had her spare key, but he was eighty-six years old and there was no way in hell she could ring his doorbell like this, painted green, with fast-food napkins stuck to her boobs. The man would die of a heart attack and she could not have that on her conscience. The only choice she really had was to go with Kyle and borrow a T-shirt and some basketball shorts.

Lord help her.

Shifting on the seat, hoping she wasn’t smearing paint onto the upholstery, she bit her lip. “Can I take a shower at your place? This paint is actually starting to pull on my skin.” As it had dried, it had tightened, and she had to admit, she was about done with the whole thing.

Maybe once showered and clothed, she would be much less aware of Kyle and her own reaction to him. She crossed her legs tightly, wishing the deep ache between her thighs would ease up. Unfortunately, she suspected there was only one way to make it go away, and down that path lay disaster.

Or ecstasy.

Emma shook her head, irritated with herself. No. She could not. Would not. Ever. With Kyle. Not while they still worked together. She’d seen the results of fraternization between coworkers too often to be insane enough to fall into the same trap. There had been Jenny in Copy, who had slept with the head of Advertising after the holiday party and had been so embarrassed by her drunken enthusiasm that she’d quit. Bill and Stacey in their online department, who had been hot and heavy for two months, had broken up and wound up shooting staples at each other in their small shared office space. Dating, sex, love and relationships all made people emotional and irrational. It didn’t mix with work.